Of Time Lord, Detectives and Chambers of Secrets
by 13tash07
Summary: SEQUEL TO OF TIME LORDS, DETECTIVES AND PHILOSOPHER'S STONES Sherlock Holmes returns to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for his second year, alongside Harry, Ron, Hermione and the odd John Smith. But a new danger faces the school, leaving everyone without a clue, Jim Moriarty continues to wreak havoc, and John is still battling with his identity.
1. Rescue

**Hello! I'm Tash, and welcome to Of Time Lords, Detectives and Chambers of Secrets. Now, just in case you haven't read the summary, this is a sequel to 'Of Time Lords, Detectives and Philosophers Stones'. You should probably read that first. Also, if you haven't read the summary, this is a cross over between Doctor Who, Sherlock and Harry Potter. It is set in the Harry Potter 'verse, but with Sherlock and 'John Smith' added in.**

**For those of you who haven't read the first story, go forth and do that! For those of you who have, welcome back, sorry for the short interruption but aren't you glad that it only took me a week and a bit? (this is what happens when your writer counts it for CAS - leave it too long and I fail my diploma)**

**Anyhoo, onto our usual review replies, and thank you everyone who bothered to leave them. Also, thank you for all of you guys who stuck through Of Time Lords, Detectives and Philosopher's Stones. And thank you everyone else who is bothering to actually read this - I always get surprised when people bother to read my stuff, and I really love knowing that you guys actually are paying attention to it! Amazing stuff.**

**Nadinnio: I left a cliffhanger because I am evil! MWAHAHAHA! Anyhoo, hope the wait hasn't been too unbearable!  
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**MyNameIsSara: UPDATE IS HERE!**

**puddingflaun: Solutions! Haha, I am not good at being cruel for long...  
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**Kirazu Haruka: Welcome to the sequel.  
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**me: Sherlock isn't the only smart one :)**

**I Deny COE: Haha, I expected people to hate my ending... hope that this sequel doesn't disappoint :D**

**********Lilybugarini: Haha, thanks for all the reviews. I have your update, but I suggest you go to your nearest Bunnings for the superglue. And yea, I am mean to adorable little eleven year old Doctor**

**And now we start...**

* * *

"We've scanned Godric's Hollow a million times, Mycroft," a ministry worked complained, shaking his head. "Whoever you had as a lead, they're wrong. Moriarty and John are gone. Perhaps you should accept you will never get him back."

"Jim Moriarty has taken it upon himself to make sure I know exactly how alive John is. And I am not letting this search go until I know he's dead for sure, or I know he is safe," Mycroft replied curtly.

"It's been over a month!"

"And the ministry hasn't fallen, as Jim would have wished. We are more in control. And we only have one lead, suggesting that they are here. And need I remind you that he not only has John at his disposal, but the philosopher stone?"

The man mumbled something that Mycroft pretended not to hear, before going off. Only once he was sure that nobody was watching did he allow his shoulders to slump a tad, a look of exhaustion coming over him. It had been five weeks since John had gone missing, and as much as Mycroft hated to admit it, he had grown quite fond of the boy. Smart, funny, kind and polite. And someone who could keep his younger brother under control, unlike himself. He was using all the power he had to make sure the boy was found, but so far they'd had little success. Soon, hopefully. Soon they'd find him.

* * *

John had lost track of time. It was a remarkable thing for him to have lost track of it, considering the fact that he could feel it. He could always feel it. It was always moving. And right now it was lost on him. He could just feel a bit of pain. Every time Moriarty left, he'd try to escape. Try to call on his magic. But Moriarty always kept his wand and his screwdriver in a glass case on the other side of his cell. So fragile, so close, yet out of reach. He was well and truly stuck.

Quite a bit had happened in the past five weeks. Mycroft had made it clear in the first week that he would not be working with Moriarty. That was the worst week. Due to the fact that Moriarty was communicating via photographs, he needed something that would show. By the end of the week, John had numerous broken bones, a black eye, and an almost steady stream of blood dripping out of his nose. After that first week, Mycroft had agreed. He'd made it clear that it would take a while, but he'd agreed. After that, John's imprisonment hadn't been quite as bad as before. He'd been unlocking numerous new memories - times like this from before. He knew that he'd had much, much worse times in his past, but this was different. In his memories he was the great Doctor, hero to many. Fighter, brave man who had the knowledge that all the stars had bestowed on him. And while he may have some of his memories, he most certainly wasn't the warrior. The great man who is the Doctor. No, he was just John Smith.

So every single time Moriarty entered, he felt his heart stutter. Of course, he didn't show it. He held his head high, looking at him right in the eye. Refusing to cower, to give up that part of himself. He was not allowing it, not at all. Every time, Moriarty would come down with some new game - after discovering that John was very intelligent, he had started playing games with him. They would be puzzles or challenges that were either in his favor or strongly against him. If he won, he would get a decent amount of food and water, and be left alone. If he lost... well, he was not fed. And he was most certainly not left alone.

He'd lost every game this week.

There was a scraping above him. They were in the basement of some house in Godric's Hollow. The people to whom the place belonged to had no clue that there was a basement, and Moriarty always apparated in. He was the only person who could get there. So he was surprised that there was a sound. A scraping sound. Then a more explosive one. John shut his eyes to the light that came streaming in, knowing that this must be some new game of Moriarty's. And he wasn't going to give up now. He pried his eyes open, looking into the light and the figure standing there, ready to glare. Ready to face whatever fate threw at him.

"MYCROFT!"

The yell hurt John's ears, but he realised something. It wasn't Moriarty. It wasn't him at all. No, it was Sherlock. His Sherlock!

The charm was still on him. His throat couldn't make a sound. But Mycroft was smart. And Sherlock was. And John was. And once he had his wand back, and his screwdriver... oh, he could have wept with relief.

A couple of seconds later a second figure joined Sherlock's. Slightly taller, a bit broader. The pair of them came closer and closer, and he smiled as he saw the clear faces of Sherlock and Mycroft. Right now, he couldn't imagine anyone else he'd rather be seeing.

* * *

"John! John, are you okay?" Mycroft asked, flicking his wand and making all the bindings around him fall away. Without a word, he touched his throat, and Mycroft understood. He touched his wand to his throat, and the stiffness that had been there left.

"You took your time, didn't you? Entire ministry at your disposal and you take five weeks! I even left you a clue."

The words were strong and brave, but his voice was raw and rather grumbly. He hadn't made to move anywhere, and he was thinner than usual. Not to mention the tired looked in his eyes.

"Sorry. He's smarter than we expected. Can you move?"

Mycroft watched as his brother's best friend nodded, struggling to his feet. He managed to half launch himself out of his chair, before stumbling. Sherlock and Mycroft caught him with ease, although Mycroft could feel his bones under his hands. There was little in the way of... well, anything. He was just skin and bones, now.

"I take that as a no."

"You just asked if I could move. Not if I could walk."

His eyes were drooping closed, now. Mycroft moved him so that he was holding the boy alone, and watched at the boy who had such an effective influence on his brother relaxed, slipping into a calm sleep.

"Go tell Doug that we've found him."

* * *

When John next awoke, it was in a clean white ward. He moved, feeling a bit of pain but not much. There was nobody around, and everything was awfully qui...

_Bang_

"Sherlock!" John yelled, loving the use of his voice, a smile flicking across his lips as he shook his head. Nobody else would be able to casually blow something up in what John assumed was a hospital. And sure enough, Sherlock came through the door, although not on fire.

"Those _idiots_ wouldn't let me through."

"So you blew them up?"

"I didn't blow them up. I simply caused a distraction."

John rolled his eyes. Sherlock would be Sherlock.

"Harry, Ron and Hermione are glad you're safe."

"I'm glad I'm safe, too."

There was a couple of beats of silence. Neither of them had done much in the way of touchy-feely stuff.

"I'm sorry. I should have known Moriarty had something like this planned."

It was the first time Sherlock had ever apologised about anything. It almost made John feel uncomfortable.

"You couldn't have known."

"Still."

"Well, I'm fine, so it's all fine."

Sherlock snorted at that. "You look like you've been caught under a stampede of Thestrals," he retorted to his friend.

"Surely I don't look that bad."

He was a tiny bit vain about his looks, and he reached up to touch his face. His arm and fingers had been healed in no time, as had most of the cuts around him face. However, there were a few injuries that wouldn't fade until they healed naturally. The cursed break in his right leg, the cut down his arm, the little thieving magpie brand on the sole of his foot. In time they'd all fade, but there was still a bit to go.

"Anyway, how are you guys going to explain to the orphanage where I've been?"

Sherlock frowned at John. "Haven't I explained that yet? You're moving in with me and Mycroft."

* * *

John was discharged later that week, having recovered remarkably quickly, although he still had to use crutches. The magical healers healers didn't quite understand the muggle contraption, but they allowed John to use after he insisted that he had seen kids at the orphanage use them and Mycroft had backed him up, knowing their use due to his familiarity of both the muggle and the wizarding wold.

John was surprised to see that all his possessions were in the room that he had at the Holme's mansion. His trunk was there, with all his books, his school robes, and the clothes that Mycroft had got him last time he'd stayed with them. He was interested to find that all his old muggle clothes that had been looking worse for wear had been removed, and there were a couple of new pinstriped suits for him.

The most surprising of all, however, was the thing that sat in the middle of his bed. Well, the two things. A broom stick, a nimbus 2001, and a kitten. A small, back thing with white paws and big blue eyes.

"Um... Sherlock! Mycroft! Why is there a cat in my room?"

He clumsily got back onto his crutches and hobbled to the top of the stairs. Down the bottom Mycroft and Sherlock were sitting, just looking at each other. Knowing them, they were probably having some sort of conversation without words. John leant over the banister and asked again, "Why is there a cat in my room?"

Mycroft and Sherlock both looked up. Mycroft smiled.

"The cat is a birthday present. According to files you turned twelve a week or so ago. And the broom is a welcome home present."

John frowned slightly. He'd forgotten it was his birthday while in captivity. He shook his head, not willing to dwell on the thought.

"Okay. Right. Does it have a name?"

Mycroft shook his head. "It's your pet, so it's your job."

John nodded silently, and walked back up to his room. The cat was laying down, looking at him with those blue eyes. Hesitantly, he scratched it under it's chin. The cat purred, and John couldn't help but smile at the small thing. When he stopped, the blue eyes flicked open. They weren't a pale blue, but a deep one. The same colour as his space ship, or his screwdriver. That beautiful, TARDIS blue. The thing looked like it had been gifted by the Doctor's ship. And he smiled at his pet. He closed his eyes, tying to find a suitable name. It came to him in an instant.

"Rose."

* * *

That afternoon John was sitting in his room when an owl swooped in. It simply deposited something on his bed. John instantly recognised the wrapping paper with the Gallifreyan symbols, and noted that it was a soft package. He once again carefully picked open the wrapping paper, careful not to smudge the Gallifreyan symbols. Slowly, he pulled out what was inside. A long scarf flopped out of the package and onto his bed, and suddenly he was hit with more memories.

_He was standing opposite to a blond girl wearing his outfit. His! He had to admit, it did look good on her. After all, he was an extremely fashionable man. Of course, Romana was good at knowing how to win him over. The other Gallifreyan was one of his few companions who would happily argue with him about everything and anything._

_He wached as the man before him punched out the creature, saving the whole of the human race._

_Leela._

_Sarah Jane._

_K-9._

John stared at the scarf, memories of wearing it burned into his mind. He carefully put it aside, and smiled as Rose strutted over to it and curled up. He watched the tiny cat curl up in his scarf for a minute, before he looked at the note on the wrapping paper.

'Did you like Moriarty? I think he's fun, for a human. I never understood why you liked the useless species so much, but now... I think I can see a bit. Also, the Gallifreyan message to your genius friend. Very good, Doctor. Better than I expected.'

John was temped to throw the paper away from him, getting rid of the thing. The taunt. But, instead, he calmly folded it in half and put it in his diary. He stared at the thing, knowing he needed to write new entries in. Things he remembered, things that had happened. However, he just couldn't. Not at all. Not this time. He needed a day - perhaps a week - where he just did other stuff. Not thinking about it at all. He put the journal down, shaking his head at it. To his surprise, there was another tap at his window. He opened it and an own flew in, a tiny scrap of paper tied to it's leg. Circular Gallifreyan.

'Coward.'


	2. Diagon Alley

**Oh dear god I swear my review answering section is going to be longer that the chapter itself... I'm quite amazed that twelve of you guys have reviewed! You're probably the only people to read this story, but still! It's... awesome!**

**Nadinnio: Yea, kinda noticed the excitement there... and I figured I may as well start ASAP before I just kinda forgot about it. And sh... spoilers!**

**MyNameIsSara: I wasn't sure people would like the cat's name, so I'm glad you like it! (It's also a bit of a nod to Pete and Jackie's dog in age of steel. Because yes, you probably could analyse my writing for an english essay...)**

**Lilybugarini: Haha, thank you! And I still feel a bit like I'm treading on eggshells around Sherlock especially, and a bit with John's character. And WATCH SEASON TWO AND CRY! (Trust me, you will. If you don't then you need to go onto tumblr, then watch it XD)  
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**Cat Square at space subway: thanks for reviewing, then! First time but I always love ti when people do! And I'm glad that you like it!****  
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**Jazzy Pseudonym: There is a depressing lack of Potterwholock, which is a shame because it's a brilliant genre!**

**me: I always find it odd addressing a reply to 'me'. But sh... spoilers! And it will be a while until you know anything about the identity.****  
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**xXKatnissXx: Haha, glad you're enjoying it! And I seem to have gotten you hooked fast. And I'm glad that you're enjoying it so much. And it's the fourth book, and I have quite a bit planned for S.P.E.W. with Lorrie and John (then again, I change my mind a lot when it comes to most things) But I hope my writing continues to be awesome!**

**TenforLife10: Sh... spoilers!**

**Calcu22: I know you reviewed before now, but this is where I shall answer! I'm glad that you think it's good - I'm always worried that things aren't going to turn out well when I change stuff. And I hope this sequel doesn't disappoint! (second ones are always the worst, in my opinion) And I'm making everyone wait so long of John Watson! But I hope you won't be disappointed with him!  
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**Winged Time Wolf Ravenclaw: Most entertaining review I have ever gotten. Brilliant! And you're story's nothing like mine. I mean, for a start it's eleven (who I still cannot write). And yes, me carrying it on!  
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John tucked the note into his book next to the other one, chills running down his spine. He looked out the window, but there was nobody there. How whoever was sending the notes knew his actions was beyond him. Could they see him?

He hauled himself up, grabbing his crutches. The cursed break was annoying him, but for some reason the part of him that was different to everyone else - the fact that he was a Time Lord, his mind reminded him - meant that he was healing quickly. Still, he was a bit grumpy as he grabbed his crutches and moved down the stairs. Mycroft and Sherlock were both sitting down stairs, just looking at each other. Still, more could be conveyed by looks between the two Holmes brothers than an hour of conversation between normal people.

They both looked up at him, and he realised that he had been adamant to having privacy not too long ago. Quickly, he smiled at them.

"Any chance of a decent meal?" he asked. As soon as he mentioned it, his stomach rumbled, and he realised that he actually wanted to eat, not just come up with an excuse. He guessed it was reasonable - he hadn't exactly been well fed with Moriaty, and hospital food was always horrid, magical or not.

"Of course," Mycroft said with a soft smile that didn't really seem to suit him. Not a predator's smile, but the smile of someone who genuinely cared and was trying to show it. Badly. "Lorrie!"

The house elf appeared, and Mycroft said, "Go get John some food."

Something in his tone, his commanding voice, and the way that Lorrie immediately bowed made John feel sick.

_Moriarty untied him and ordered him to stand._

_"I'm bored. Make me some food."_

_"No."_

_The smack across his cheek smarted, but he knew that it was simply for theatrics. Moriarty didn't need his hands to hurt John, all he needed was his wand..._

"John!"

The twelve year old blinked at his friend. "Sorry. Memories. I'm fine."

Sherlock gave him a look that suggested that he didn't trust John and his 'I'm fine.' But he didn't say anything, a trait of Sherlock's that was one of John's favourites. No need to explain, no pressing questions and worry, simply Sherlock ignoring it all. Mycroft was the same. And right now it was just what John needed.

* * *

John, Mycroft and Sherlock ate in silence, something that John was rather glad of. He ate quickly, piling food onto his plate, before eating it as quickly as possible. Four plates of food later, he was finally full. Gently, he pushed the food away from him.

"Right. I guess that I should write to Harry, Ron and Hermione. Let them know I'm okay."

"Don't bother writing to Harry and Ron separately. Ron flew an illegal invention of his father's to go pick him up. Dumb, but it worked. Oh, and we're all meeting up at diagon alley next Wednesday."

"Right," John replied, processing all this information. Harry was with Ron. Hermione was with her parents, and he was with Sherlock. That seemed to be quite a typical split for their group. John smiled politely at his friend, before limping up to his room. Rose looked up from where she was laying on his bed, sleepily.

"You're lucky, you know? You're just able to lay there and look gorgeous all the time."

The cat just sort of looked at him, in a way that made him swear she could understand him. Like he and Norberta... he instantly tried to switch him mind set. Cat.

"Can you understand me?"

The animal nodded, and that was when he could swear he was going insane.

"Great. Now I'm talking to a cat."

The responsive purr had an offended tone to it.

* * *

Wednesday rolled into being and John still hadn't written in his diary. He didn't want to make his memories more real. The more he got to learn about who... about what he used to be, the less he wanted to remember. Sure, there were good things. There were those memories of grabbing someone's hand, of taking off running, of laughing and brilliance and wonder. But it seemed like those shining moments were the rarity. There was more of the burning, the fury, the death and destruction. The amount of memories of people dying... of the war... the memories he'd gained in captivity gave him more nightmares than the captivity itself.

He didn't want to be the Lonely God. He just wanted wanted to be John Smith. Eleven year old with good friends. A _home_! With people he liked in places he belonged.

"John, are you ready? It's a while away, and we figured with your leg it would be better to drive than take floo powder."

In the past week his leg had healed at an alarming rate, until he was basically walking like a normal person. He still relied on crutches, but he could get to places without them. Thankfully.

"Hang on, just putting on my shoe!"

The diary was staring at him. He grabbed the blue thing and shoved it under his bed, where it couldn't be seen. Then he hobbled out with his crutches, putting on a grin for Sherlock. The boy had been treading on eggshells around him, not his usual big-headed, irritating self. When John pretended to be happy, the tension in Sherlock's shoulders visibly released.

"Come on. Mycroft's got the car running."

* * *

The Weasleys were all standing around, looking worried when the two Holmes brothers and John approached.

"Where's Harry?" Mycroft asked, noticing the fact that he wasn't there.

"We don't know. We travelled by floo powder but he obviously didn't get out at the right grate," Arthur Weasley replied, looking a bit worried. Mycroft opened his mouth to say something, but at that moment John noticed the rather large figure of Hagrid appearing, with a smaller one beside him. The figure turned and saw the group. He grinned and jogged towards them.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," Harry assured the Weasleys, before turning his attention to John and Sherlock.

"Long time no see. I'm glad your safe."

John smiled, not sure of what to say. Thankfully, he was saved from response by Fred and George butting in.

"Yea, we were actually getting worried."

"We knew the ministry was incompetent."

"But really?"

"How hard can tracking down one guy be?"

"But glad you're safe, mate."

"Quite glad."

John couldn't help but grin at the two of them. They were sincere yet light hearted, something which Sherlock didn't quite succeed in. Staying with the Holmes was something odd, and sometimes a bit hard. Sure, the two of them were like family to him at the moment, but they didn't get how to be light hearted.

"Never trust the government to get things done."

Mycroft made a sort of insulted noise that made John, Sherlock, the twins, Ron and Harry all grin. He thought of himself as the government, both muggle and magic (which, by now, he probably was) and took most insults to it personally. The rest of the Weasleys looked a bit confused, but didn't say anything.

Within minutes the Grangers had appeared, Hermione's face lighting up as she saw John.

"You're all right!" she squealed, running and almost knocking him over with a hug, which he returned with a smile.

"You know me. I'm always fine."

* * *

Their supplies were all purchased. Well, all but their school books. Sherlock was watching John out of the corner of his eye, slightly concerned. The boy had been quieter than usual. It was to be expected, really. When people talked to him he'd smile and answer, same as always, but if there wasn't anything directed at him, he'd fall silent, looking a bit overwhelmed. Even Fred and George could see that John was a bit overwhelmed by having the entire Weasley family, as well as the Grangers, fussing over him a bit. The twins, for once, weren't cracking jokes at the boy's expense. Of course, it may have something to do with the fact that they had grown fond of the odd boy after he'd told them how best to blow up one of their experiments.

"Flourish and Blots, then home," Mycroft said firmly. There was a murmur of agreement, and they all forwarded into the book shop, basically creating their own crowd, even without Mr. Weasley and the Grangers. Not that the addition was needed.

The bookshop was packed. There were squealing girls, photographers, grumpy looking parents, swooning people. Sherlock looked at John out of the corner of his eye. The boy had tensed slightly at the sight of all these people, but he had a determined look on his face. One that Sherlock knew meant he'd not back down.

"I wonder why there are so many people," Hermione said quietly, looking around the crowded shop. Sherlock was about to reply that it was reasonably obviously - someone of a higher standing, probably very well known, was there. Probably speaking. However, he never got to say it, because at that moment the person who was attracting so much attention seemed to notice their group.

Gilderoy Lockhart's eyes found Sherlock's startling blue ones and widened, a shocked but pleased grin taking over. Sherlock cursed internally. But then those eyes slid past him to his company, and the look he'd given Sherlock seemed like nothing. The way he was looking at Harry...

The man swooped down, grabbing Harry. Eyes all turned to their group, and John paled as many of the eyes seemed to flick to him before returning to Harry and Lockhart. As Harry was manhandled to the front of the shop, Sherlock felt a bit of relief. He'd gotten out of that one.

There were pictures and talking which Sherlock didn't find important. He got the fact that Lockhart was to teach them defense against the dark arts, and felt a bit of annoyance.

"He's a fraud."

He said it reasonably loudly, and quite a few people turned to look at him. Including Mycroft, whose face was disapproving. Sherlock didn't care at all.

"Look. He holds himself for the cameras. An actor, certainly. Probably some magical talent, but nothing like what he says. I mean - "

"Oh, look who's showing off."

Sherlock frowned at the voice that interrupted him mid-sentence. He recognised it from school, and felt a bit of annoyance.

"Now, now, Draco. Be civil."

The pale boy's nose wrinkled in disgust at his father's suggestion of being civil to them. Sherlock fought the urge to punch him in the face, especially as his eyes travelled over to John.

"You got your sidekick back, then?"

"Shut up, Malfoy."

"I'd watch my tongue if I were you, Holmes. You and your brother may thing you're special, but you're nothing."

Sherlock laughed. "We're better than you. Sniveling little daddy's boy."

Malfoy shoved him a bit, making Sherlock laugh.

"I know girl's who can push better than you."

The two of them were too busy arguing to notice Arthur Weasley and Lucius Malfoy begin arguing, until they both went flying into the bookshelf. Sherlock and Draco both turned and watched as the grown men brawled. Arthur had pulled back his arm to punch Lucius when John intervened.

While the twelve year old boy was smaller than the two adults, he once again showed the strength that both Sherlock and Malfoy knew well. His crutches were discarded as he stood slightly unsteadily, but still stubbornly. He pulled Arthur off Lucius and pulled the man to his feet, wand pointed at his chin and eyes flashing dangerously. Once again Sherlock was reminded of the fact that his friends was apparently referred to as 'The Oncoming Storm'. Because when he looked like that, Sherlock could see the storm.

"Give Ginny back her potions book and leave," he commanded. Cold and quiet. It would have been better if he had yelled. Sherlock watched as Lucius shoved the book back into Ginny's arms, before walking out the door with his son. As soon as they were out of the way, John sagged a bit.

"I think it's time to get you home."

Harry was pried from the grasp of Lockhart, the group of them all agreeing to meet up on the train back to Hogwarts. Right now, Sherlock was looking forwards to school. Anything to get out of the house, feeling bored but obliged to stay still for John's sake.

**Also, do you guys like my answering reviews at the start of each chapter, or would you prefer me simply acknowledge you guys who review and only reply if there is a question? Because if you guys find it frustrating going through the reviews and stuff, then tell me!**


	3. Back to Hogwarts

**Here we have it! Has it only been a week? God, time, get a grip!**

**First of all, I shall say that for those of you who have reviews that are in their account, I have begun PMing you guys back about that instead of writing it at the top of the chapter! However, for those of you without that I will continue in normal style. Also, thank you all who reviewed! It makes me so happy when people do! Seriously, I'm still struggling to grasp the fact that people are actually reading this stuff! So thank you guys!**

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**Starkid191: Yet another update got you! And I hope you do get out of there!**

**Anyway, onto the next chapter!**

John, Sherlock and Mycroft approached the barrier between platforms nine and ten together. John was off his crutches, his limp basically gone. He'd gone from being so skinny that he looked like he would snap in half in the breeze back to his usual slim form. He was back to looking like he used to, and acting more like it.

The pages in his journal were still blank.

"Are you two sure you have everything?" Mycroft asked. Sherlock rolled his eyes at the older boy.

"Yes, _mother._ You do realise we don't need you to accompany us."

Mycroft raised an eyebrow at the mother comment, but kept his cool, collected demeanour.

"It's for your own safety. Half the ministry wanted to follow you two, make sure that there weren't any more... incidents."

Sherlock just rolled his eyes and leant into the barrier casually, slipping through to the platform on the other side. John followed, walking through the barrier like it was normal, and he wasn't passing through solid brick. Mycroft followed after, pushing John's trolly. John had protested at that, but Mycroft had insisted. And when Mycroft insisted on something, John was learning, he generally got his way.

"I can take my stuff from here," John told Mycroft, grabbing his trunk. "I'll see you in the holidays."

"Stay safe. Both of you. Don't do anything stupid."

John gave a sort of half nod. Sherlock, typically, ignored his brother.

* * *

When the train left, it was just John, Sherlock, Hermione, Ron's younger sister Ginny, and Neville Longbottom. John had been almost completely unable to look Neville in the eye when he had slipped into the carriage

"I'm sorry," John said softly, not meeting the other kid's eyes. He'd gotten him in trouble, and the last time he'd seen him Neville had been laying unconscious on the Gryffindor common room. To his surprise, Neville didn't snub up his nose at him.

"It's fine. I mean, it was kinda more important than just house points."

The tension that John had felt seemed to melt from the air, and he smiled at the chubby Gryffindor kid.

"Where's Harry and Ron?" Hermione asked, looking around the carriage as if she's only just noticed their absence. Everyone in the carriage shrugged. Hermione's eyes went slightly wide.

"You don't think..."

Sherlock and John instantly caught on. "No. Never. Wouldn't dare take Harry from the train platform with so many witches and wizards around," John said, feeling his hearts speed up.

"He took you from Hogwarts. Right under Professor Dumbledore's nose. And I know him. He wouldn't be scared - hell, he'd take it as a challenge," Sherlock replied.

"Well, technically Dumbledore wasn't there at the time. He wasn't in the school."

Sherlock's answering shrug to Hermione said what he thought of that.

"There were still all the teachers. All the students. He and Lord Voldemort were both there," he replied seriously, ignoring Ginny and Neville flinching at the name. "and only Moriarty came out. If he wants something, he will get it."

There was a silence. John could feel Neville and Ginny's eyes on him. He quickly sought to change the subject.

"Ginny, I bet you have a heap of stories about Hogwarts. I mean, you must know a bit about what you're getting in for. I had no clue what it was when I got my letter."

The young girl's face went almost as red as her hair, mumbling something as she nodded.

"I bet Fred and George have told you a few good ones," John continued, smiling again. The girl shrugged her shoulders.

"There was this one story, about Filtch and Peeves, that they always tell," she said, slowly getting more confidence as she began to tell stories about pranks pulled by Fred and George in their schooling career. She was a good story teller - Neville seemed rather enchanted by her, Hermione smiling. Even Sherlock was listening, interested, commenting on the intelligence of some of Fred and George's plans. Soon they were all telling stories - Neville of his upbringing in a wizarding family, Sherlock of some of the highlights of he and Mycroft's childhood, Hermione about muggle life. John even told them about some of the adventures and places he'd visited. They were vague, but he could remember locations so clearly. Then, of course, they touched on their adventures the previous year.

"You, Harry and Ron were so sure it was Snape," Sherlock laughed. Hermione shook her head.

"I always thought he was a suspect, but I never outright accused him," she protested.

"Oh, you thought it was him," John told her, to which she scoffed. They were all laughing and jokingly accusing people when the train pulled into the station. They grabbed their trunks, before Ginny left the group with a wave of her hand. The first years always went to Hogwarts via boat, while all the other years caught the supposedly unmanned carriages.

John, Neville, Hermione and Sherlock were walking towards the carriages together when John suddenly stopped dead. He was staring at the carriage. Well, more specifically, the things pulling the carriages.

"Thestrals," Sherlock provided, following the other boy's gaze.

"I... he thought that they'd been killed. The Doctor. In the Time War. They walked the battlefields, tall and deadly. The forefathers, what the Could Have Been King based the Meanwhiles and Neverweres off."

His eyes were on the creature, and slowly he approached it. The thing sniffed him and nuzzled his face. He grinned and patted the thing. "You're beautiful. Brilliant."

Neville was look between him and the Thestral, as if he were crazy to approach it. Sherlock had a slight grin on his face as he watched his friend coo to the creature, grinning like he hadn't since he'd been rescued. Hermione, on the other hand, looked like she thought John had gone mental.

"What's he talking about?"

John looked at her, his eyes wide. "You can't see them?" he asked, before he shook his head. "Humans. I guess. What triggers it for you to see them?"

"Having witnessed a death," Sherlock told him. John gave a nod.

"Right. Opens up an entirely new psychic receptor. Makes sense. All Time Lords, after witnessing the power of the vortex, could see them. They were grand things, back home. The shadows of the beauty of Gallifrey. They were beautiful, wild and loyal. And when the Time War came, so many of the lesser species started to see them. They were frightened of these things that not all of them could see. So the Could Have Been King took some and mutated them. Turned them fierce, gave them powers over time and space, while taking away their loyalty. They slowly changed into Meanwhiles and Neverweres. They slaughtered the Thestrals. But they still live on here."

He was smiling more than anyone had ever seen him. His eyes were wide and sparkling still as he continued to stroke the creature. He stood there for a while, before shaking his head.

"We should get going."

* * *

The carriage pulled up to the school, and Sherlock, John, Neville and Hermione piled out. The group of them forwarded into the great hall, taking their seats and waiting. Soon a bunch of first years, all looking rather wet as they walked in. Colin Creevy was the first boy to be sorted into Gryffindor. They sat there, politely clapping all the students as they walked to the tables. One of the children caught John's attention - a pale young girl with a slightly dreamy look in her eyes, who was announced as 'Lovegood, Luna'. She was watching the hall with a familiar fascination as she gracefully placed herself on the stool, the hat slipping down over her eyes. It sat there for a while, before yelling out 'Ravenclaw'.

She put the hat down and floated over to the table. None of the other students caught his eye, until Ginny went to sit down on the stool. Barely a second later the sorting hat yelled out 'Gryffindor'!

The flaming red head came over to their table, being cheered along. She slipped in next to John, and he smiled at her.

"Congratulations. How was the boat trip?" he asked with a smile. Ginny shot one right back at him.

"Wet."

* * *

The five of them made their way up to the Gryffindor common room together. Ginny and John were talking easily, John feeling quite fond of the girl. She was smart, but a bit shy. Her quietness was something that John felt drawn to - she was understanding but not patronising. Hermione had been treating John a lot like he was made of glass, and Sherlock had never been one for touchy-feely sort of stuff. They were talking, one of those conversations that you remember making you happy without knowing the content of it, until they reached the common room. When they got there, everyone was whispering things.

"Did you hear? Harry and Ron flew a car to school! And ran into the whomping willow!"

Fred and George both looked amazingly proud of their brother - more than they'd ever done before.

"Typical," Sherlock scoffed.

* * *

Ron and Harry arrived in the common room not too long after John, Sherlock and Hermione. Everyone began cheering and congratulating them, apart from Ginny. She took one look at Harry, went pink, and slipped away. John watched as she ran towards the Gryffindor common room, feeling a bit regretful. He'd liked talking to the first year girl.

Along with the other Gryffindors, John smiled at told them that they were idiots. Sherlock didn't even bother to comment on what had happened, while Hermione fussed over them, telling them that they were irresponsible, especially after what had happened to John. Harry looked a bit guilty, but Ron just rolled his eyes.

"Look, Hermione, we're fine. And that's all that matters."

Hermione looked less than pleased with that answer, but let the point go. John watched as everyone cheered on Ron and Harry for a bit, before getting up and going to the empty common room.

He moved to his trunk, opening it and rummaging through it until he found what he was looking for. His journal. He flicked it open and pulled out a quill, sitting up the top of his bed.

It was time to fill in his journal.

* * *

Sherlock was planning to go to bed early that night. He picked himself from the crowd and made his way up to the dormitory to see John sitting there, finally writing in his journal.

He gently closed the door, backing away. When Seamus came up stair to go to bed, Sherlock turned him away. He knew how long it had taken John to get that journal out, and he was refusing to let him not finish writing all that had happened.

Perhaps that's what having friends was like.

**Yet another chapter! Not much happens in this one, sorry, but it was an necessity. Well, not really, but parts of it were and the rest was just fun!**


	4. Gilderoy Lockhart

**Perhaps I should point out that I'm a bit slow on this one. Chamber of Secrets is probably my least favourite Harry Potter book. So sorry it's taken me a while, but I'll try to get faster!**

**Guest: Hehe, updated :D  
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**Someone Who Wants a Fez: I quite like Rose - I disliked the moping a bit, but I am a bit of a Drose fan! They are just cute and I could do an entire 4000 word essay on why they are a good pairing! And I am not too much of a Doctor River fan. And point taken! (Hadn't thought about the last name before this, so thanks!) And PS SPOILERS! And PPS MORE SPOILERS!**

**Starkid191: I'm glad you enjoyed it! And I'm glad you're out of hospital!****  
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**MyNameIsSara: Thanks!**

**Guest: Thanks! I really like playing around with aspects of the Doctor, just in case you haven't noticed! And I always thought that if the Doctor didn't have the weight of being an outcast in the original series and being a legacy in the new one, he'd be brilliant! And I just kinda wanted to expand on that. And I was also feeling a tad bit rushed with them, but at the same time I didn't want to draw it out - I struggled to find the good balance. And I hope you enjoy this chapter!**

* * *

The group were sitting together at the dining table when the mail came in via owls. Everyone was surprised when Ron got a funny red envelope.

"Open it, Ron," Neville said nervously, eyeing the envelope as if it was about to explode. "It's a howler. It'll be worse if you wait. My gran sent me one, once."

There was a moment of silence as Ron shakily opened the letter.

The howling voice of Molly Weasley soon filled the great hall. Sherlock couldn't help but feel glad that it wasn't his mother yelling at him in front of all these people, scolding him about stealing a car. Then again, maybe it would be nice to hear his mother's voice for once.

He shook his head at that thought - his mother never had anything good to say. Only his faults. Six years old and reading through muggle calculus books and all she could say was how disappointed in him she was for bothering to look at muggle stuff. No, his mother never had anything positive to say, no matter what he did.

* * *

The new time tables were handed out. Herbology was first, which they weren't too fussed about. Breakfast ended and they grabbed their bags, heading down to the greenhouses where a slightly disgruntled Professor Sprout was being followed by a flamboyantly dressed Gilderoy Lockhart.

"Greenhouse three today, kids."

Lockhart gave them all a charming smile. "I've been helping Professor Sprout doctor a whomping willow! I've met a few of these in my travel."

His eyes scanned the group and once again landed on Harry. "Professor Sprout, would you mind if I borrowed Harry for a minute?"

The look on her face suggested she was willing to do anything to get away from Lockhart.

"Of course. Just don't bring him back too late."

Sherlock, John and Ron all gave him a sort of comforting smile.

"Good luck, mate," Ron told him seriously.

"Oh, come on. It's not like he's walking to get killed," Hermione cried shrilly.

"I believe that death would be the preferable option," Sherlock replied seriously.

* * *

They had made their way to greenhouse 3 and had been there for a couple of minutes when Harry finally reappeared.

"What'd he want?" Ron asked.

"He thought that me flying the car was for more fame."

Everyone but Hermione snorted.

"Now then, class, today we are going to be re-plotting Mandrakes. Can anyone tell me anything about Mandrakes?"

Of course, Hermione's hand was the first in the air. "They can revive petrified people. However, the sound of their cry is fatal."

"Correct, as always Miss Granger. Ten points. Now, since these Mandrakes are only babies their cry will only knock you out for several hours. However, since I doubt any of you want to miss your first day back, you should make sure to always wear your earmuffs. Now, I ask you split into groups of four!"

There was an immediate split in their group - Harry, Ron and Hermione were together, while Sherlock and John were in a different group. A Hufflepuff boy soon joined Harry, Ron and Hermione, while two others join John and Sherlock. Sherlock gave them both a once over and opened his mouth, but John elbowed him in the ribs.

"Ouch. What was that for?"

"You were about to be rude."

"I was not about to be rude. I was about to state my deductions."

"So, basically, you were about to show off."

The two Hufflepuffs were watching, amused, as the two argued. Most people had heard stories of Sherlock Holmes and what he'd done, but it was hard associating a boy who blew up a whole street with this same kid arguing with his friend. Finally, their banter stopped.

"Sorry. I'm John. John Smith."

"Holmes, John. You're John Holmes."

"Really?"

"Unless you want to stay Smith."

John paused for a moment, considering. John Smith. Generic name. Generic person. Nobody. John Holmes, however. John Holmes, a part one of the smartest and most influential families in the history of magic. Brother of Sherlock and Mycroft Holmes. John Holmes. He liked the sound of it.

"John Holmes it is. And that's my... brother? Adoptive brother, Sherlock."

"Nice to meet you," the girl said with a smile. "I'm Hannah, Hannah Abbot. And that's my friend Ernie Macmillan."

They nodded at each other with a smile, but that was all they got to do before they were instructed to put on their ear muffs. Soon they were repotting Mandrakes, little ugly, baby like plants. They were hard to handle - they didn't want to leave their old pots, but they didn't want to move into their new pots.

On a whim, John scolded one of them in the language he'd come to identify as his own. It instantly piped down and stopped struggling. Experimentally, John moved his ear muff from one ear and listened.

The plants all had screwed up faces, but their wailing wasn't just wailing. It was an almost perfect harmony between all of them, calling out to each other and complaining and calling. John grinned, stopping what he was doing and completely taking off his ear muffs to listen better. The structured chaos of noise was amazing.

A second later his ear muffs were forced back on by Sherlock, who was giving him a look. _Abnormal behaviour._

John got the message and nodded. The Herbology lesson finished, and they all packed up their stuff.

"Why did you take off your ear muffs?"

John smiled. "I wanted to hear them. They were beautiful."

* * *

Transfiguration and Charms went the same as usual - Hermione, John and Sherlock had all done the tasks required while everyone else struggled. The day went past quickly, until after lunch.

"Defense against the dark arts with that git," Ron complained. Hermione made an offended sound, but didn't comment back. They all headed to the classroom and entered, feeling the chill of being watched. John looked around at all the paintings off Lockhart.

"Not at all narcissistic," Sherlock commented as they headed to a spot halfway down the classroom. They sat down with the rest of the class and waited for their teacher to appear.

"Hello, and welcome to your first defense against the dark arts, taught by me! Gilderoy Lockhart! Winner of Witch Weekly's most handsome smile award. But I didn't get rid of that Banshee just by smiling at her!"

Very few people laughed. There was very little enthusiasm from the boys, although quite a few girls perked up.

"Now, I am going to start you off with a little quiz."

He handed out a bunch of questions, 53 of them. Three pages. Every single one of them about himself.

"Is he serious?" Ron asked, wrinkling his nose up at the paper.

"I think he is," Harry said, looking at Lockhart.

"How pointless."

There was a pause, before Ron realised something.

"Hermione, what are you doing?"

"The quiz, of course."

There was a second's silence, before all four of them snorted with laughter.

* * *

Lockhart collected the quizzes, looking through them all with slight disappointment.

"You'd think none of you had ever opened one of my books. Especially you, Mr. Holmes. You didn't get a single question right, and I'd heard such extraordinary things about your memory."

Sherlock looked at him with his usual seriousness, and John could already tell what he was going to say.

"I only store important items in my mind palace. Frivolous gossip has no room."

Lockhart looked a bit put by his comment, quickly scanning the rest of the test papers. "I see your friend, Miss Granger, has no such problem. In fact, she got full marks. Ten points!"

Hermione blushed.

"Now, moving on!" Lockhart proclaimed, smiling to show every single one of his perfect teeth. "My job is to teach you about the most dangerous dark creatures you can encounter."

He moved towards what is quite obviously a cage, covered by a thin cloth. Despite themselves, most of the class leant forwards to get a closer look. There was a pause.

"Now, I ask you not to scream."

He whipped off the veil to reveal a cage of pixies. Seamus Finnegan couldn't help it - he gave a snort of laughter.

"Laugh all you want now, Mr. Finnegan. But let's see how you fare against them!"

He opened the cage door, and mayhem erupted.

Pixies flew everywhere, ripping into textbooks and throwing things twice their size. Ink bottles and bags were soon strewn around the room. Lockhart pulled out his wand and yelled an incantation.

Nothing happened.

There was quite a look on panic on his face. John hissed as a pixie tugged at his hair.

"Stop that," he barked, in a language that wasn't Gallifrey. It took him a second to register the fact that it was the pixie's own language.

"Why?" the thing squeaked back.

"You're being rude. You and all your friends should all go back to your cage now."

The thing laughed. "You can't order me around!"

"I can curse you through this life and the next. I speak your language - don't think I can't."

The thing let go of his hair, cautiously, before letting out trills to it's friends. Soon they were all back in their cage. John pulled out his wand and waved it around the classroom, whispering 'reparo' as he went. Soon the room was back to it's normal state.

It took him a good two minutes to realise that the entire class was staring at him.

"What language was that?" Dean asked, looking at him with a combination of fear and awe.

"Pixie."

There was an odd silence, all eyes fixed on the odd boy. He sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck.

"I'm good at languages."

**Another chapter done. Fun fact - Lockhart is the name of a man who is a rather well known psychologist who studied, wait for it, memory. And we all know the only thing Lockhart's good at. It may be a coincidence, but with J.K I doubt it. If it is, it is still a brilliant one.**


	5. Quidditch and Curses

**Sorry kids, been interstate for the past week! But I'll update frequently from now on, plus I have a little avengers oneshot as an apology, if anyone likes avengers.**

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******Starkid191: Haha, thanks! I don't know if I'd like it to be a career - I think it'd become too much of a chore instead of a joy. **

******Guest: I find that. And here is me, updating! And I am evil, just saying.**

* * *

John lay in bed the next morning, his cat Rose laying on his chest, repeating his name to himself.

_John Holmes. John Holmes._

Simply the name brought him that much further away from being the great and terrible Doctor. He wasn't somebody who was waiting to remember who he was. He had himself. His own presence in society. John Holmes was letting go of the past and starting anew. And he wasn't going to let anything drag him back.

Smiling at that thought, John sat up in bed, Rose gracefully jumping down. It was rather early, still, but not too much so. Everyone was still asleep, barring Harry.

"Quidditch practice, most likely," he told himself, slipping out of bed. He figured he may as well watch - he found the sport fascinating. Maybe if there was a vacancy he'd join.

Slipping out of bed, he pulled on his robes and headed down to the pitch. The team was nowhere in sight - that generally meant that Wood was giving one of his long winded run downs. It was times like this that he wished he knew some sort of summoning spell - his new broom was back in his room, and now looked like a perfect time to practice with it.

Experimentally, he raised his wand and concentrated. To his disappointment, nothing happened. He needed to know the actual spell, he guessed. Sighing, he picked himself up and ran back to his room.

Everyone was still asleep.

John smiled as he grabbed his nimbus 2001 and ran back onto the pitch. There was still nobody out and about - the sun hadn't even risen.

There was a joy that he felt whenever he flew. The feeling of the wind rushing past his face as he moved. The broom responded to his touch, and he couldn't help but love it. Every second of it. He grinned, and wondered if this was how the Doctor felt when he flew the TARDIS.

_No. He feels infinitely better. There is always that mystery - where to go. The feeling of the TARDIS as she gently strokes his mind, lovingly, and he returns it. The complete and utter feeling of being safe and of being _home_. That's what the TARDIS is to him._

John shook his head, pulling to a stop and closing his eyes. He couldn't be the Doctor. He didn't want that connection. That link to the vengeful god. He was John Holmes. Not the Doctor. He wasn't the Doctor. He wasn't the last of the Time Lords. He wasn't. He was just an average twelve year old boy.

He could feel the second heart thudding in his chest, and bit back a sob. Who was he kidding. His time was limited. Eventually the Doctor would come. And the Doctor would take over. And John Holmes would be a distant memory - something that happened one time, a pinprick in the Doctor's grand and eternal life.

* * *

Sherlock lay awake in bed that morning and watched John slip out of the room with his broom stick. He smiled slightly, thinking of his friend. His brother. He was a much better brother than Mycroft had ever been in the single year he'd known the kid. Finally, a Holmes he could be proud of. A member of his family that wasn't rude, or stuck up. One who actually accepted him. A friend.

A friend.

John Holmes, brother. John Holmes, friend.

Sherlock liked the sound of that.

* * *

Eventually, the Gryffindor team came onto the pitch to practice. There was a moment of silence as they watched John flying, speed and grace matching Harry's easily. But it wasn't his usual sort of wonder in the flying - it was like his life depended on it. Like if he didn't pull all this off his existence would end.

It was still amazing to watch.

A couple of minutes in, John spotted them. He pulled his broom out of a dive and to a break nobody would have thought possible had it not just been witnessed. Gently, he floated down to the ground and stepped off.

"So you guys finally surfaced?"

There was a slight grin passed between the Weasley twins, and slight frown from Wood, which quickly disappeared.

"That was some impressive flying, there. What sorta broom do you have?"

John sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck at the praise. "It's not that good. And it's a Nimbus 2001."

There were a few whistles of appreciation as the team looked at the broom.

"It's a nice looking broom," Wood said with admiration shining in his eyes.

"Must've been expensive," George commented. John once again rubbed the back of his neck.

"It was... a welcome home present from Mycroft."

The Weasley twins and Harry both shut and up looked awkward, but wood simply looked confused.

"A welcome home present? Welcome home from where?"

"Just... away."

There was a tense, awkward silence, while Wood simply shrugged.

"Oh, well. Come on, team, we have a lot of training to do."

John had never actually seen the team practice, so he sat down in the stands. He smiled as they moved, like a well-oiled machine. Working together.

_At the academy they were allowed a go in a TARDIS. Groups of six. Theta, Drax, Koschei, Ushas, and two others were in one together. There was much switch flicking and running around. Theta had been with the other TARDIS, an ancient type 40, all morning. Despite the skill and ease in which the group piloted the newer TARDIS, he was missing his old one. That one was his._

_That night he stole her._

"Oi! John!"

John jerked out of the memory to see Ron, Hermione and Sherlock heading towards him. He smiled at them, waving in greeting.

"You guys finally decided to wake up."

"Just because you don't sleep," Ron complained with a smile.

"You do, however, sleep for extremely extended periods of time," Sherlock pointed out. There was, however, a ghost of a smile behind the remark. Ever since the events of the previous year, the pair had become friends.

"I sleep a normal amount!"

"Yea, for a sloth."

"Well at least I don't -"

Their conversation was interrupted by Hermione. "Look! Isn't that the Slytherin team?"

And indeed it was. Without another word they all picked up and headed onto the pitch, where the Gryffindor team and the Slytherin team were already butting heads, arguing about something. It took a moment for Sherlock to recognise Draco Malfoy.

"What are you doing here?"

"I play seeker for the Slytherin team. Look at what my father so generously donated to the team."

The entire team was showing off their brooms. Nimbus 2001s. Ron's jaw dropped, but Sherlock simply shrugged his shoulders. Their estate could buy every nimbus 2001 in the country and still have enough left over for the two brothers to live comfortably for the rest of their lives.

"I doubt the Gryffindor team could afford it. One of these are probably worth the entire Weasley's residence."

Fred, George and Ron were all going red from a combination of fury and embarrassing. Hermione, however, simply piped up.

"At least nobody on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way onto the team. They got in out of pure talent."

In contrast to the Weasley's red, Malfoy went paler than usual.

"Shut your mouth, you filthy little mudblood!"

There were yells of outrage. Everyone on the Gryffindor drew their wands, apart from Fred and George who simply lunged forwards with their bats. The Slytherin captain was between them and the pale boy, who'd taken a step backwards out of fear.

In the scuffle, nobody noticed Sherlock draw his wand and aim a curse at Malfoy until the other boy collapsed, pale skin blossoming with blisters everywhere.

"Apologise," Sherlock hissed, wand pointed threateningly. Malfoy simply had fear in his eyes. A swish and a flick and the boy rose into the air. When he was well above them, Sherlock let the spell stop. The pale boy began plummeting towards the pitch at an alarming rate.

"Wingardium Leviosa!"

John's voice was confident, and Malfoy's decent slowed to an almost stop. Gently, John placed him on the ground.

"What did you do that for?" Sherlock asked, lip curling.

"Me? What did I do that for?" John asked, glaring at his adoptive brother. "What about you?"

"He called Hermione a Mudblood!"

"So that warranted an attack? You could of seriously hurt him!"

"He deserved it!"

"Did he?"

The pair of them were standing face to face, fury in both of their eyes.

"Perhaps you are the person Moriarty said you were," John said softly, turning and striding off in disgust. Everyone, even the Slytherin team, were standing in a shocked silence. Sherlock's face was his usual calm, although his nails were digging into the palm of his hand. The rather tall boy half-ran to his friend.

"Look, John, I'm sorry."

"Are you?" John snarled back. "Are you really sorry?"

Sherlock opened his mouth to give a lie, but something in the other boy's brown eyes stopped him. Once more he remembered that while John might be John, he was also the Doctor. The Oncoming Storm. The Destroyer of worlds. And Sherlock swallowed the lie.

"No, I'm not."

He expected John to turn and keep walking. He was immensely surprised when he, instead, took a step forwards. Into his face.

"Do you know what he told me? Those weeks spent with him? That month? He told me that you didn't need to blow up the street. That you had the control when they attacked. That they were going to withdraw. But instead you chose to kill them, and the rest of the muggles on the street."

His voice was once more that dangerous whisper. That almost silent hiss that was more dangerous than any yell could be. Sherlock stood there, his face calm but his blue eyes flashing almost as dangerously as John's were.

"Oh, and you decided to believe him?"

"It was the only time when he'd sat down. Without a single taunt or clever word. Not a single blow or a single curse. And I told him he was lying. But now I have my doubts."

"You have your doubts?" Sherlock hissed back. John didn't take a single step back. "Did he tell you what else went down? The fact that he himself had grabbed me, tight, around the neck, telling me that he'd like nothing better than to snap it. And somehow I managed to grab his wand and point it at him. And he carefully backed away, saying that maybe they could forget about it. And I was going to tell them to leave when a stunning spell came flying at me. So yes, I blew up the house, and I blew up the street. But it was in a moment of self defense that I could not yet control."

"You still didn't have to. There were other options. You could have controlled it, Sherlock. You've always been smart and powerful. But you didn't have to kill them."

"Like you can speak, Doctor."

John stopped as his friend spat the title at him, freezing in a second. Sherlock continued, knowing he'd struck a nerve.

"Destroyer of your own kind and how many others? I've read your journal while I was trying to find how to save you. I know what you did."

"He didn't have a choice," John hissed back, cold fury in his voice.

"Didn't you? You had more of a choice than me. More control. You didn't just explode, you calculated it. Coldly, controlled. The Doctor stood above two planets and dictated their last moments."

"Stop it," he breathed. Sherlock continued.

"You chose to kill them in a moment of cold blood, the two mightiest civilisations. Standing, half mad, at the doors of your TARDIS. Sure, you may not have expected to survive, but you did. Breathing in the ashes of two of the greatest civilisations."

"Stop it!"

The words were yelled, pain overtaking fury as the most prominent emotion in his eyes. He could see all that Sherlock dictated, all the harm he'd caused. The Doctor had. The great and powerful Doctor.

"It wasn't me. I wouldn't... I would never!"

There were tears burning in his eyes, tears he refused to let fall. Sherlock was still glaring at him in cold fury.

"Never, ever lecture me on moral righteousness," he snarled, before stalking back up to the castle and leaving a slightly stunned John behind.

**Oh god what did I just do? I should really keep sticking to my plan, but I just can't!**


	6. The Chamber Has Been Opened

**See, told you I'd update soon! I know, it's been less than a day! I've actually gotten on quite a roll - and just reminding you guys that I know what I'm doing :P**

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**Guest: I am writing based on stories written by JK Rowling and Moffat - what do you expect? Anyhoo, here's the next chapter!  
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**

* * *

John and Sherlock hadn't talked in over a month by now. In that time, John hadn't slept a wink. He was always awake, sitting in the common room and staring into the flames. He had barely spoken, barely done anything. There was, however, a tense moment when he'd introduced himself to a Ravenclaw girl as 'John Smith'. Sherlock hadn't bothered to protest, simply shooting him a look.

However, on most of those nights he wasn't alone. Ginny Weasley had become unexpected company, not that he was complaining. She would generally sit down next to him as the rest of the house went to bed.

"Shouldn't you be sleeping?" he had asked her that first night.

"Shouldn't you?"

John had smiled back at her, and it had been a start of a friendship. She usually fell asleep at around midnight, head resting on his shoulder. He would usually carry her up to her common room and gently put her to bed. One night one of her roommates had been awake and screamed at the sight of him, saying something about how it was impossible. Boys, apparently, got kicked out of the room by magic. John figured that the ineffectiveness probably was for a similar reason to him passing through the potions chamber without the flames going up.

John had found, over the week, that Ginny had many things on her mind. She told her, numerous times, about how most of the other girls didn't get on well with her. Her brother being friends with the famous Harry Potter made most of the pure blood girls jealous. The half-bloods and muggle-borns generally banded together, too. Ginny had found she didn't like anyone in her house in her year, really. Then she was nervous about not living up to expectations - while she couldn't be any worse than Fred and George, she wasn't as popular as them. She was constantly questioning if she was doing the right thing.

She'd ask him about Harry quite a bit, too. He told her that he didn't know the boy quite as well as her brother did. Explain that he was closer with Sherlock and Hermione than he was with Ron and Harry. Hell, Sherlock was probably closer to Ron than John was. And neither were overly close to Harry.

A new week passed, and John still hadn't talked to Sherlock. Hallowe'en was drawing close, and John couldn't help but remember the previous year. With Fluffy. And Sherlock.

"It's Hallowe'en next week," Ginny told him that night, her head resting on his shoulder.

"Yea, it is."

"We should go down to the dinner together."

John smiled at his friend. "Yea, we should."

* * *

The night of Hallowe'en rolled around rather swiftly. Sherlock and John still hadn't made up, and John was still spending most of his free time with Ginny. Ron constantly gave them odd looks, but John didn't mind. The girl was the best companionship he'd had in a long while, and she said something similar.

"I... before I started talking to you, there was this diary. It was in my potions book. And I would write into it, and it would write back. And I used to talk to Tom... that was his name, Tom. And then, when I told him that I didn't need him, now I could talk to you, he got angry. And it scared me."

"What did you do?" John asked, concerned. He didn't like the sound of this diary.

"I... I threw it. Into one of the girl's bathroom where it could be washed away. I don't know what happened to it after that."

Something about the diary made him feel uncomfortable.

"If you find something like that again... don't touch it."

Ginny nodded. There was a moment's silence, before John smiled at her.

"We should head down to dinner."

* * *

John had to say, he very much enjoyed the dinner. Harry, Ron and Hermione didn't make an appearance, but Sherlock was sitting on his own, completely ignoring everyone else. Well, not ignoring. Observing everyone else. John, however, paid no attention to him.

"You guys should make up," Ginny said softly, following his gaze. John shrugged his shoulders.

"I know... but it was a big argument."

"Look, you're his only friend. And I know you miss him."

John bit his lip. "I don't know if he'll forgive me," he said softly, more to himself than her.

_'Let me kill...let me rip...oh, I can smell you...'_

Ginny had said something, but John completely missed it.

"That wasn't English," he said softly, pushing his plate away and standing up. Ginny rose with him. "Come on."

"Where are we going?"

"We're following the voice."

"What voice?"

John shrugged his shoulders. "The non-human one."

He ignored the rest of her questions, grabbing her hand and running. For a second he was reminded of the Doctor and one of his companions, but he quickly shook his head, the thought disappearing with it. Right now, he just wanted to find the voice. Find it and stop it.

They skidded around corridors, John listening.

_'Let me tear... let me rip... let me kill...'_

Another corridor, and another. He was closing in, near the target of it.

"This is near Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. Where I threw away the diary."

John added that piece of information to his brain as he skidded around the corner and to a halt.

The corridor was flooded. Mrs. Norris was hanging from a lamp holder, completely and utterly frozen. And on the wall opposite were words.

"The chamber of secrets has been opened. Enemies of the heir, beware!"

Ginny's hand was very firm in his, squeezing it very tightly, eyes flashing with fear as John pulled out his screwdriver and pointed it at the cat, before the wall.

"She's not dead," John said softly. "The cat. Just petrified. And the writing is blood. Not human, though. Chicken, I believe."

"John... what does the writing mean? What's the Chamber of Secrets?"

John shrugged his shoulders. "No idea," he said softly. "It's fascinating."

He kind of wished he had a pair of glasses to put on. Not because he needed them, but because he felt it would make him feel smarter in a situation like this.

"I wonder what could do that to a cat. I doubt it was a student. Couldn't have been. No student would have to power. And all the teachers are at the dinner. So what was it?"

He crouched down, looking at the water. And all around. One of the things he noticed was the fact that spiders were all leaving. In a line, through an open window. Odd behaviour.

A mystery.

Part of John was extremely excited about this. He knew he shouldn't be, but he was. A mystery, an adventure.

"Shouldn't we get a teacher?" Ginny asked, and John reminded himself that he was John, twelve year old student at Hogwarts school for witchcraft and wizardry. Not the Doctor, 900 year old genius. Well, he said he was 900. John knew that that was an approximation. The Doctor was probably about double that, and still young for a Time Lord.

"Yea, we probably should," John said, reluctantly standing up. He turned around, ready to leave, when he heard footsteps. Three sets of them.

Harry, Ron and Hermione appeared from around the corner.

"Ginny? John? What are you doing here?" Ron asked. Harry, much like John, was slowly approaching the cat, frowning. Ginny's eyes were following him, her face bright red. Still, she answered her older brother.

"John said he heard a voice, and followed it here."

"Harry said something similar."

"Who did this?" Harry asked softly.

"What did this would be a better question. And why could you hear it when nobody else could?"

"You could," Ron pointed out.

"I don't count," John replied, still looking at Harry.

Harry shrugged his shoulders, still looking at the cat.

"Is... is she dead?" Hermione asked, looking at Mrs. Norris.

"No. Just petrified."

They stood there in silence for a second, Ginny's hand still in John's, when they heard footsteps. The feast had finished, and everyone else was now leaving the grand hall. And coming this way.

There was a sort of shocked silence as everyone came around the corner and stopped, looking from the cat to the writing on the wall to the five students standing in the middle of it all. There was a moment before a voice spoke up. Draco Malfoy, fully recovered from Sherlock's attack.

"Enemies of the Heir, Beware! You'll be next, mudbloods!"

John turned on him, wand instantly drawn. "Shut your mouth, Malfoy. Or do you want a repeat of last time?"

It was rather unfortunate that McGonigall chose that moment to appear.

"Mr. Holmes, Smith, whatever you're calling yourself at the moment, what on earth do you think you're..."

She trailed off as she saw the cat and the writing. Her face instantly paled, and there were murmurs as other staff members joined her.

"Come with me, Argus, Mr. Potter, Mr. and Miss. Weasly, Miss Granger and..." the headmaster's voice had rung out, making Ginny jump a little and tighten her grip on John's hand - a movement that Ron noticed - but Dumbledore paused when he came to John's name, unsure of which last name to address him by, his blue eyes sparkling a little in an odd way. A kind way. "John."

"My office is closest."

Lockharts voice was almost a boast as he informed the group.

"Thank you, Gilderory," Dumbledore replied calmly. The crowd parted to let them through - them being the five students, Lockhart, Dumbledore, Snape and McGonigall. They were soon inside the office, where Dumbledore began examining the cat.

"She's not dead."

Eight sets of eyes were suddenly focused on John.

"The cat. She's not dead. She's petrified."

Dumbledore gave a sort of half nod, almost urging him to go on. So John straightened up.

"The blood on the wall is chicken blood. Well, I say chicken blood, but it might be roosters. Well, maybe not even roosters. Some sort of bird, I know. So not human blood, which is a plus. Also, the sort of spell work? Way beyond anything any student who hadn't had access to most of the library's restricted section would be able to do. There doesn't appear to be that much of a struggle, and that close to the great hall you'd've heard the cat screech."

Sherlock wasn't the only genius in the school. John was sharp enough.

"That's what I've figured."

"That sounds awfully like a confession, Mr. Smith," Snape drawled, not hesitating on the name like most of the teachers did.

"Not a confession. Merely deductions," John replied, an almost barbed tone in his voice.

"I want to know what they were doing in this corridor at this time of night," McGonigall said, sensing slight tension between teacher and student, and looking at them all. John and Ginny exchanged looks, both knowing that most of the staff thought he was mentally unstable enough without adding the fact he was hearing voiced.

"I felt a bit sick," Ginny said easily. "John offered to walk me back to our common room. That's where we were going before we came across Mrs. Norris. We were about to go get someone when Harry, Ron and Hermione appeared."

McGonigall looked a bit unsure of their tale, but didn't comment.

"And what about you three?"

"We were at Nearly-headless Nick's death day party and heading to the great hall when we heard Ginny and John's voices," Harry lied, thinking similar things to John. "We thought they sounded odd, so we decided to go check that they were okay."

Still, she didn't quite look like she believed them. Dumbledore stepped forwards.

"Is that all?" he asked. They all nodded. Dumbledore gave them all a piercing stare, before smiling. "Well, I guess you should be getting to bed now. Off you go."

* * *

Sherlock was waiting when they got back to the common room, jumping to his feet, all arguments apparently forgotten.

"Tell me everything."


	7. Myths and Legends

**New chapter! Party time! Sorry if I haven't replied to PMs and such - my computer has been acting up a bit**

**Guest: I like it, too. Every time I take ages to update I feel guilty. And I need to get that kid a pair of glasses!  
**

**MyNameIsSara: Hehe, thanks!**

**Guest: Now! I hope you like this chapter as much as the rest!**

* * *

The past month and a bit Sherlock hadn't been having that much fun. He hadn't realised how attached to John he was until the boy was gone. Without John, Sherlock didn't quite feel comfortable with Ron, Harry and Hermione. Away from them, he had nobody. He always said he didn't need friends, but now he found himself without one for the first time in a long time, he found he did need them. He liked them. His tiny group of people he likes and trusts.

It made him even more mad that John spent more time with Ginny Weasley. They would sit together, in front of the fire, until she fell asleep. John made friends. He just smiled and talked to people and they couldn't help but like him. Those big, puppy dog eyes, his messy brown hair always sticking up at the front. And the ease with which he talked, got people to trust him. Sherlock envied that in some way. Before, he'd been happy. He didn't have social graces, but he'd prefer to be smarter than the rest than social. But John was just as smart, and had that. Those friends.

The logical part of his brain told him that he should just apologise. But this was a case where his heart ruled, and he had no desire to tell him that. He had been just as bad. He should apologise first.

A month of stubbornness passed, as he watched Ginny and John get closer and closer.

John wasn't making an effort. He knew that much. Looking at him, sitting with Ginny.

But, then again, what was Sherlock to expect? He knew that John's past was a sensitive topic for him. He knew that calling him Doctor, reminding him of his nightmares, was very much a no-go zone. But he had also insulted Sherlock. Telling him it was his fault, those things. That explosion. But it wasn't.

Both of them were at fault. And Sherlock wanted his friend back.

He guessed was lucky that Malfoy hadn't blabbed to anyone about what had happened on the quidditch pitch - it had never really been mentioned again, and Sherlock got the feeling that there was an element of fear contributing to that.

On Hallowe'en he was planning to make up. Harry, Ron and Hermione had asked if he wanted to come with him to Nearly-Headless Nick's deathday party. Although he kind of wanted to go, he figured that the feast would be the perfect time to make up with John.

But no, he was sitting there with Ginny Weasley. The pair of them, talking easily. He watched them closely, feeling something that could almost be counted as jealousy.

Then they stood up, ran off. Her hand in his. Her. Hand. In. His. He watched them running off, hand in hand, and he felt what was most certainly jealousy. His best friend, his _brother_, was running around holding hands with a girl! And not just any girl, Ron Weasley's younger sister.

There went that opportunity for an apology.

He picked himself up a little bit later with the rest of the people, standing up sulkily and heading back to the Gryffindor common room. He reached the corridor and stared, along with everyone else.

However, while everyone else was shocked by the cat, Sherlock was taking note of everything.

_Water on the floor_

_Cat hung up by the tail_

_Petrified, not dead_

_Blood_

_Writing is fresh - applied during the feast_

_Water washing away all evidence_

If he could get get closer to it all, he would be able to investigate, but they probably wouldn't let him. Standing close, however, was the rest of his friends. Including John. John and his perfect, or next to perfect, memory.

So, of course, he went up to the common room to wait for them.

* * *

"Tell me everything," Sherlock commanded. He could see John and Ginny still holding hands, but didn't care.

"Why should I?" John asked. Sherlock could tell almost as well as he could deduce anything that John was thinking of what Sherlock had said to him before.

"Because, no matter how mad at me you are, you need me to solve this."

"No, I don't. I think you're forgetting that I am just as smart as you are."

"Look, John, I'm..." the words caught in his throat. He was Sherlock Holmes. He was a _Holmes_! He did not apologise. Not to anyone.

Only to John.

"I'm sorry."

John looked at him for a minute. Almost shocked.

"I'm sorry, too."

There was a slight silence, before John grinned at Sherlock. The other boy couldn't help it - a smile twitched at his lips in return.

"So, tell me everything."

John took a couple of steps forwards, gently placing his hands on either side of Sherlock's face, fingers on his temples.

"This would be easier, if it's okay with you," John said softly. Sherlock nodded, and their foreheads rested.

To anyone else, nothing happened. But to the two of them, a lot did.

_Water_

_Rooster's blood_

_The spiders scuttling away_

_Cat at eye height_

_Ginny Weasley and the Diary_

They broke apart. Everyone else was sort of staring.

"I hope you don't mind, Ginny, but I think I'm going to stay up with you and John tonight. I need to visit my mind palace."

* * *

Everyone else had gone to sleep, muttering dying down. Everyone but Ginny, John and Sherlock, the latter of which not having moved for over an hour. He was perched on a desk, legs crossed and eyes closed, every now and them moving as if to swipe an idea away.

"So, explain to me what he's doing?" Ginny asked, watching the only person who could pass as family to John.

"He's in his mind palace. It's this memory technique - you store information there and it supposedly makes it impossible to forget anything except by 'deleting' it. It's hard to explain. He'd probably trying to come up with links. Times this has happened before."

Ginny gave Sherlock another glance, and he violently shook his head and swiped at the empty air with his hands.

"So, what did you two do before?"

"Quick information transfer," John replied. Seeing Ginny's slightly confused look, he elaborated. "Basically, I showed him exactly what was in my mind. It's a talent. Time Lord thing."

Ginny nodded as if that was perfectly normal, a gesture that belied her confusion.

"John, you don't happen to know what language it was speaking?" Sherlock called, having snapped out of his mind palace.

"Not a clue, sorry. I don't think it's from any species that the Doctor encounters regularly. Not enough for him to know the language and it's owners."

"Right. Well, anything else you haven't mentioned?"

"Yea. Harry said something about Filch being a squib."

Sherlock nodded, his elbows still nestled on his knees as he sat, fingers meeting in front of his lips. He sat there, still, for a second, his mind making links now he was sure he had all the information.

"Spiders, water, blood. Chicken's blood. Why that, in particular? Why kill chickens?"

"Roosters."

"What?"

John shrugged. "I've been re-analysing the screwdriver's readings, and it's rooster blood."

"But why? There has to be some connection. A link. Water. I feel like water's important in this. Water. Why water? Mrs. Norris is obviously an attack on Filch. But what is 'enemies of the heir'. I need more data!"

John was also thinking that. Knowing what the chamber of secrets was would be a great help. But Sherlock, really, wasn't the only great mind here.

"We have a lot. No student could have done that. No adult was not present. So, we have a third factor. Something powerful. Something with the ability to petrify. However, working with someone. Someone human, to write the words. Perhaps a slave to them. House elf? Although I doubt one would cause this. No, that doesn't sound right at all. And you're right - water seems important. It was Moaning Myrtle, the girl who haunts the bathroom, who flooded the place, but there's something we're missing."

He jumped up to pace, running a hand through his hair. Ginny watched in fascination as that mind worked. This boy didn't seem like the John she. Polite, clever, but always looking for new information. No, this boy was more like the man he often talked about. As he paced, his hair sticking up, she couldn't help but think it was not John speaking at all. It was his Doctor. The Doctor. The man of his nightmares. But perhaps, in this situation, he would be an asset.

"Rooster blood. Why roosters? Why kill roosters? It was fresh blood, not something from the kitchen. And the spiders scuttling away. Perhaps that has something to do with whatever petrified the cat. A creature. Something that could be commanded. Something that fears spiders. And something that only Harry and I could hear."

He stopped pacing, feeling frustrated.

"You're right. We need more data. We need to know more about the chamber of secrets."

* * *

The next day, John began noticing odd things. Students of all ages were moving out of their way to avoid him and Harry. Quite a few students were giving them looks out of the corner of their eyes, suspicious. John ignored it, but Harry seemed to be a bit put out.

"I don't get it."

"They think it was us. That we did it."

"But we didn't."

John shrugged his shoulders. "People will believe what they want to believe."

Still, it was a little off-putting. It could be worse, though. Sherlock and John were now friends again, although there was still a slight stiffness in their relationship that would only be relaxed by time. Ginny still sat with John in the mornings, although the fact that his rekindled friendship with Sherlock had somehow brought them straight back to Harry, Ron and Hermione meant that Ron generally hissed for his sister to piss off. Much to John's relief, she paid absolutely no attention to her older brother.

"You could treat her a bit more nicely," John hissed as they sat at the back of their History of Magic lesson.

"She's my kid sister. I'll treat her how I want. Just because you're sweet on her..."

"I'm not 'sweet on her'. She's my friend. And she looks up to you. And all your brothers. So treat her a bit nicer - she is your sister!"

Ron mumbled something that sounded a bit like 'I can do what I want'. Soon, they'd fallen into their usual bored stupor, even John tuning out of Professor Binn's lecture on the International Warlocks Convention of 1289. He barely noticed Hermione putting her hand up.

"... was wondering if you could tell us anything about the chamber of secrets?"

John tuned in, suddenly alert. He could see the clues in his mind, and felt his hearts flutter in anticipation. He was enjoying this, the thrill of the chase, a lot more than it should. He was curious about it, and right now Hermione had just asked the right question.

John wasn't the only one who had perked up. Most of the class were now sitting up straight, eyes fixed on their teacher in an unusual display of liveliness for the lesson.

"My subject is History of Magic. I deal with facts, Miss Granger, not myths and legends."

"But myths always have a basis of truth behind them," John pointed out.

"Well," the ghost said slowly, "yes, one could argue that, I suppose. However, the tale you speak of is such a very sensational tale... a very ludicrous one..."

Every single student was alert, hanging on to his every word. In the years, decades, he'd been teaching, Professor Binns had never had this much attention from a class. And he shook his head.

"Oh, very well. Let me see... the chamber of all know, of course, that Hogwarts was founded over a thousand years ago - the precise date is uncertain - by the four greatest witches and wizards of the age. The four houses are names after them - Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw and Salzar Slytherin. They built this castle together, far from prying muggle eyes, for it was an age when magic was feared by common people and witches and wizards suffered much persecution."

The teacher paused in his story, seemingly surprised he still had the class's attention.

"For a few years, the founders worked in harmony together, seeking out youngsters who showed signs of magic and bringing them to the castle to be educated. But then disagreements sprang up between them. A rift began to grow between Slytherin and the others. Slytherin wished to be more _selective_ about the students admitted to Hogwarts. He believed that magical learning should be kept within all-magic families. He disliked taking students of Muggle parentage, believing them to be untrustworthy. After a while, there was a serious argument on the subject between Slytherin and Gryffindor, and Slytherin left the school.

"Reliable history sources tell us this much. But these facts have been obscured by the fanciful legend of the chamber of secrets. The story goes that Slytherin built a hidden chamber in the castle, that the other founders knew nothing about. Slytherin, according to legend, sealed the chamber of secrets so none would be able to open it until his own true heir arrived at the school. The heir alone would be able to open the chamber of secrets, unleash the horror within, and use it to purge the school of all those who were unworthy to study magic."

The tale ended, and John couldn't get those words out of his head. _The horror within. The horror within._

He got the feeling that it was something that spiders feared. That didn't like roosters. And had some very, very powerful magic.

**All right! Not quite exciting, but still! Also, Professor Binn's speech is taken directly out of the novel. I was very tempted to use some in text referencing, but nah. Anyway, hope you enjoyed, etc.**


	8. Moaning Myrtle

**Over two weeks! I know, I know, I'm sorry. I've been sick and had millions of assignments and other stuff going on so I haven't had time or inspiration. And sorry this chapter's not great - I needed to post something! So yes, hopefully you enjoy this chapter! Also, sorry if I haven't been answering reviews - again, disorganisation and lack of time had interfered. But fear not, an update appears!**

**Chimera: Hehe, glad you like it! And you'll just have to wait and see what pairings I do!**

**Guest: Thanks! You're roleplaying this? *faints* Hehe, you're too nice! And your English is brilliant! Especially compared to my second language...  
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**Guest: Yea... nope! Trust me, John Watson hasn't come in but he will and he will be epic  
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**Guest: The blood on the wall :D Ehehe! I like throwing spanners at people's expectations of what is going to happen**

* * *

They walked out of the class, everyone whispering.

"I always knew that Salazar Slytherin was a twisted old loony. You couldn't convince me to be in his house if you paid me. All this pure blood stuff."

"The hat considered putting me in Slytherin."

Sherlock's voice was as uninterested it always was, seemingly oblivious to the fact that Ron was staring at him.

"What?" he asked, turning to look at his friend. The red haired boy was still gaping.

"You were going to be in Slytherin?"

"Ron, I'm a pureblood from a line of Slytherins. I am cunning, and I am resourceful. I am basically what Slytherin looked for in a student. I think that Mycroft was actually disappointed that I ended up in Gryffindor."

Sherlock's slight smile told John exactly what he thought of that. Sherlock had probably asked the sorting hat, knowing him. Begged it to put him anywhere but Slytherin. Anything to annoy his older brother. John noticed Harry's expression out of the corner of his eye. A sort of... relieved look?

* * *

The change in mood inside Hogwarts was incredible. You could cut tension with a knife. Whispers about the chamber of secrets were everywhere, with various different hypothesises. However, pretty soon there was something else to occupy everyone's attention.

"Slytherin verses Gryffindor match coming up," Harry told them all. "We've got to win - I don't think I could stand Malfoy if we didn't."

Even Sherlock seemed more interested in the sport than usual.

"I have never gotten along with the Malfoys, so if you beat them on lesser brooms it would be brilliant."

Harry, however, wasn't looking too confident. "I wish we all had nimbus 2001s for this match. It would be nice to just have that edge."

"Mycroft could probably get his hands on some, if you really wanted. It's not at if the Holmes family are short of funds. I mean, having to ask Mycroft would be annoying, but I could."

That was probably the closest to Sherlock being friendly - actually offering to talk to Mycroft to help out a friend. In general, association with his brother was a bit of a no-go area. The pair of them didn't get along extremely well, although John said that they simply acted as all siblings were meant to act.

"No, it's okay," Harry replied quickly. "I wouldn't want to put you out at all. Plus, I would rather beat Slytherin on our own brooms."

And that was the last it was brought up.

* * *

_The Doctor was standing in the ruins of Arcadia. It was just him, now. Him standing on his own, staring at the Nightmare Child. The massive form, black and smoky, was still leering. Laughing in the wake of all the agony it had caused._

_"I'm not dead yet! You realise that, don't you? I am still here! I am still hope! I live on while nobody else does and I am not afraid of you!"_

_He laughed again. He had nothing to loose. Nothing to fear. There were no daleks, no time lords, no nothing. Just him and this... thing. And the thing couldn't hurt him. It feasted off his mind, off his fears and off his insecurities. But he was alive. He was the last one alive at what used to be Arcadia. The Doctor, the survivor._

_And he laughed. He laughed and teased with a black humor that only one who had seen such destruction could laugh at. But in that laugh was hope. He could survive this, he could survive anything, and he could defeat the nightmare child._

_And the thing was changing. Becoming corporeal and splitting at the seams. Then suddenly it fell apart, fraying at the seams. Black smoke, almost like shards of fabric, began to fall all around him. Other parts flew off, where to nobody knows. But the parts that fell around him slowly floated to the forms of the Time Lord corpses. And the Doctor watched in horror as it began to wrap itself around their limp forms. The rose from the ground, re-animated. Grotesque figures wrapped in black cloak._

_The Doctor gulped. He was no longer alone, the Time Lords around him rising. He could see his TARDIS, and knew one thing he wanted to do. Romana's body was lying there, so close. He wanted to grab it, take it back home._

_But the black cloak was already falling, slowly engulfing her body. He knew that she was lost._

_"I'm so sorry," he whispered, before he fled into his TARDIS and left the dead planet._

* * *

The Doctor - _no, John. He was John. John John John._ John woke in a cold sweat. He sat up, breathing hard, to see the forms of his sleeping room mates. Sherlock in the bed right to him, then Harry, then Ron, then Neville, then Seamus, then Dean in the bed to the left of him. All of them were sound asleep. Silently, he slipped out of bed, pulling on the jumper Ron's mother had given him for Christmas over his pyjamas and grabbing his blue journal.

Sitting in front of the fire, he began to illustrate his dream. The Nightmare Child's form, the wisps of smoke that had flown off, the cloak covered Time Lords and Ladies.

_The nightmare child's form touched these and created something new_

_More of the nightmare child also blew off_

_Nightmare child lives (?)_

He stared at the name. The idea of it - the nightmare child. The nightmare child that could be entirely feasting fear and horror, but could also have form. He got the feeling that the fall of Arcadia wasn't the last that the Doctor saw of the thing. And the idea of remembering more of that creature was horrifying. The daleks - he could see how they happened. They started off just trying to survive and became twisted, hateful. The Could Have Been King was a failure of Time Lord society. His Meanwhiles and Neverwheres were darker, more twisted versions of thestrals. But the nightmare child... it was pure hate. Hate and fear and sadness. Literally a creature born of nightmares. And that scared him more than anything.

_He stood over the burning civilisations, cold, calculating. The last survivor. Great and terrible, trying to believe it was the only way._

John felt himself shiver ever so slightly. The Doctor could be more fearsome than the Nightmare Child. The nightmare child was what it was. It was hate and it was evil, and that was all it knew. But the Doctor... the Doctor was worse. He knew what he was doing. He was something deadlier. The genocidal pacifist. The peaceful soldier. Never carrying a weapon but destroying everything. And when he wasn't being confusing, he was the oncoming storm. The destroyer of worlds. The lonely god. And John didn't want to be lonely. He just wanted Sherlock by his side, he was happy being John. Wizard John with a life and a home and friends and a family.

He sat there, adding little notes to his journal and thinking. He couldn't run forever, could he? Still, he would try. He'd come up with ways. He had to.

* * *

Sherlock hadn't actually attended a quidditch match before. It was never a pastime that seemed particularly interesting, so he generally avoided them in favor of looking around the castle. Since the first time he'd stumbled upon her painting, Sherlock had become rather good friends with Mrs. Hudson. She would put in good words to the other paintings about him until he had an entire network of the things, telling him what was going on. Unfortunately for him, however, there was not a single painting in the corridor where Mrs. Norris was attacked. Most people would say it was just a coincidence, but Sherlock didn't believe in them. No, whoever attacked Mrs. Norris was clever. Perhaps not Sherlock and John clever, but clever. Think like your enemies. That was always a good rule.

However, they had the advantage. If whoever attacked Mrs. Norris struck again, and Sherlock was nearly certain that they would, he would be at a disadvantage. He would have to think to get rid of any clues, whereas Sherlock just needed to see them. He just had to make the links.

The morning of this quidditch match was no different. While the rest of the school was watching the match, he could go and investigate the spot where Mrs. Norris had been attacked. It seemed like the best time - since the attack it had been impossible to investigate on his own. So while everyone else was getting up and ready for the match, he was sitting there waiting for them to leave.

"Good luck, Harry."

"You're not coming to watch?"

"I don't see the point."

"Of corse you don't," Harry sighed, shouldering his broom and leaving. Sherlock didn't understand why he was so surprised; Sherlock didn't have any interest in the sport. Or any sport, for that matter. Plus, there were more interesting things happening.

As soon as the entire common room was cleared, Sherlock ran to the second floor, excited about being able to investigate. Alone. No teachers snooping, no students giggling, no nothing.

The water and Filtch's scrubbing had wipes away quite a large portion of the evidence. However, there was still some things that could be done.

"Blood is most certainly rooster," Sherlock muttered softly, looking at the enchanted writing. "Charmed heavily, it seems. Probably so that people won't forget. Water washed away and other evidence."

He walked towards the bathroom, knowing that that was where the water had come from.

"Who's there?"

A squeaky girl's voice cut through the silence.

"Sherlock Holmes," he replied, projecting his voice.

"You're a boy!"

"Yes, I have figured that out before now."

"This is a girl's bathroom."

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Yes, I have figured that out too."

A ghostly girl, who Sherlock assumed was the owner of the voice, floated out of the cubical and joined him.

"Then why are you here?"

"I want to know what happened on the night of Hallowe'en. A cat as attacked outside your bathroom."

The girl floated down to his level. "I don't know. I didn't see anything. Peeves was being awful to me at the death day party, teasing 'poor, miserable, moaning Myrtle' so I came in here and tried to kill myself before I realised... I realised..." she gave a dramatic sob. "I'm already dead!"

"Yes, I've noticed. Generally you have to be dead to become a ghost," Sherlock told her, rolling his eyes in boredom at the girl. "However, you must have heard or seen something out of the ordinary."

She shook her head, floating away from him.

"I was in my cubicle. I saw and heard nothing."

Sherlock sighed in frustration. "Right. Well, if do see something unusual, tell me. Or get one of the other ghosts to pass the message on."

"Well," the ghost girl said, "There was an incident a few weeks back. A girl, red haired, came in and threw away a diary. Passed right through my head. And then, a few hours later, another girl came in. Innocent one, that one. Seemed to be in a bit of a daze. Picked it up and smiled, saying something about unusual magic, before leaving with it. Blonde girl."

Sherlock nodded and added that piece of information to his memory. Any piece of information was handy at this point in time.

* * *

**Bit iffy, but there we go! Sorry again for the delay. I'll try to have the next one up soonish, but no promises. I'm blocking a bit here!**


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